


micaiah/pelleas oneshots

by LilacMist



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, is this deja vu or what, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacMist/pseuds/LilacMist
Summary: dumping ground for the angsty and sweet stuff that will def fill my brain as i play through radiant dawn AGAIN





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue taken and adapted from Radiant Dawn 1-7

The Daein air is unusually still. It only adds to the tension Micaiah is feeling. The victory in Terin left the Liberation army in high spirits, but the prince's advisor quashed them with talks of poisoning a water supply. Micaiah is still on edge when she receives notice that Pelleas has requested an audience with her. It is for the best; she needs to address his inaction as of late. She has reservations when she enters his tent, his slouch revealing how worn out he feels.

The prince jumps at the intrusion, then relaxes when he notices who is visiting. It is faint, but he smiles warmly. Micaiah's tension ebbs. "Sorry to call you here like this," he apologizes in lieu of a greeting. "Forgive me."

Micaiah shakes her head and assures him that coming is no bother. He offers her tea, but she declines, knowing he would be stalling by doing so. Perhaps she will have to return later to take him up on his offer. Cop out or not, his enthusiasm was genuine, and seeing him smile so easily made her happy. Pelleas is typically meek, letting others drag him along by a flimsy thread. She appreciates him taking the initiative. If only he would do so as a king...

"I know you are angry. Please, forgive me," he apologizes again. Angry is not the word she would have used. Frustrated, maybe? Miffed? Disappointed? He needs to take initiative. He needs to assert himself. Micaiah tells him so.

Pelleas laughs sadly and fidgets with his fingers in his lap. "I suppose it should be that simple, but I will still ask Izuka for permission. I owe him much." Micaiah opens her mouth to counter this, but he is focused on his hands and continues speaking. "He taught me how to become a proper member of the royal family. He contacted Tauroneo and mustered an army. Without his help and influence, I would not have even met my own mother." He sighs and leans back into his chair, staring up at the ceiling.

"I see," Micaiah mumbles. "You were alone..."

She cannot stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. She projects her loneliness, her isolation, onto him. "He provided you with a reason to live, and you feel you owe him a debt..." Micaiah babbles. "That is why you try to do as you are told–as Izuka wishes." This war–protecting Daein–is the reason Micaiah continues to press forward. Like him, she is wanted, but unlike him, she will have to leave the limelight and return to her isolation. She envies him.

"Micaiah, you’re–" Pelleas speaks again before Micaiah slaps her hands over her mouth.

"I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–" she apologizes this time. "That was inappropriate."

Pelleas shakes his head and smiles brightly. "Why are you apologizing? You’re amazing! You really can read minds!"

His enthusiasm, a joy mere minutes before, now makes Micaiah sick to her stomach. Reading minds? What a joke. She can usually tell when a person has good intentions, but that comes from her life experience. She is older than she looks, after all. Her description was her own desire, disguised in his life story. Micaiah sits, grasping for words, but nothing comes.

The prince's expression calms. "Sorry, I got too excited. Look at me, I’m sweating." He laughs and wipes his brow for good measure.

It is only for an instant, but Micaiah catches sight of a mark on his forehead. It couldn't be...

"Prince Pelleas!" she jumps to her feet and shouts much louder than she had intended.

He jumps in his seat as well, gripping the armrests tightly. "What is it?" he squeaks. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She realizes how much she had startled him and slowly sits back down. "That mark..." she whispers. Is it possible? His past, his isolation...was it for the same reason? Micaiah clings to this possibility, this _hope_.

Pelleas collects himself and sweeps his bangs to the side. "It’s called the Spirit’s Protection. When you make a pact with such a spirit, its power manifests on your body like this," he explains.

Micaiah's face falls, and her hope is extinguished. "I… see..." she mumbles. How foolish to think that he could have been...that _they_ could have been...

"What am I saying? You already know all of this, of course. You have the Spirit’s Protection, too. I saw the mark on your right hand."

Micaiah instinctively draws her arms to her stomach, hiding what is already known. He saw? What should she do? Disappointment, fear, and unease swirl around her head like a thick stew. "Do you think this mark is really the Spirit’s Protection?" she asks quietly, attempting to use the time he spends answering to calm herself.

Pelleas brings a hand to his chin in thought. "You didn’t enter into the pact yourself? I see. So, it must have been the spirit who wished to make a pact with you," he mutters more to himself than to her. Satisfied with his conclusion, he nods and continues. "It’s a very rare phenomenon among newborns. Usually it happens to infants who have an exceptional talent for magic." He closes his eyes and smiles, bigger than she has ever seen from him. "You truly are amazing, Micaiah."

She is still breathing far too fast. "I don’t know about that…" she pants, her heart hammering into her ribs. Micaiah needs to relax. Pelleas saw her mark and assumes her magical talent stems from her spirit's protection. Everything is fine.

"Let’s keep this among ourselves… We don’t want people to confuse us with the Branded."

Her heart practically stops.

He cannot know, not after guessing that she is a spirit charmer, right? Her face blanches, white as a ghost. She hopes he does not notice the trembling in her voice when she asks, "What are the 'Branded?'"

Hearing the word sub-human roll so easily off of Pelleas's tongue is unsettling. Micaiah sinks into her chair as if it would envelop and hide her away from the rest of the world. For a dwindling moment, she had thought that perhaps she was no longer alone.

Maybe Sothe is right. He is the only one she can trust.

"Anyway, I’ve been terribly mistreated by people who thought I was one of the Branded."

Pelleas's words catch Micaiah's attention. Her unease is replaced with empathy. She knew far too well the pains of bearing a Brand–the fear, the hurt, and the loneliness. She did not think to consider that his shared pain was a result of his mark.

Perhaps...

"Micaiah?" the prince asks, waving his hand in front of her eyes.

She blinks and shakes her head so her vision can focus. "Oh… sorry," she apologizes. "I think I understand more about you now, and about the marks we share."

Pelleas nods. "I’m glad I was able to tell you." There is his smile, again. She cannot decide if she feels closer to him than before or if this pushed them apart. She has much to think about.

"I think I should rest," she excuses herself with a curt bow. Micaiah turns to leave, but Pelleas's voice stops her.

"Wait!"

She glances over her shoulder.

He smiles again–that warm, adoring smile. It suits him.

"Come talk to me again, sometime."

Micaiah smiles back for the first time that night.

"Certainly."


	2. Crushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Pining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not an april fools. just some good ol fashion Crushing  
> based on a twitter prompt. takes place after 3-7.

She should be paying attention to _what_ Pelleas is saying, and she knows it, but Micaiah cannot stop her eyes from wandering to his lips. He bites them when he is nervous. He rubs his thumb against his chin, then across his lower lip as he looks for his spot on the page. His tongue darts out between his teeth when he stumbles over what to say, but she cannot hear him. All her foggy brain can focus on is how badly she wants to feel those lips against her skin. To _taste_ him.

"You look weak," Sothe whispers in her ear.

Micaiah inhales sharply and fumbles with an excuse. "It's... my foresight..." she claims, glancing sideways to see if Sothe buys it. He does. When Pelleas pauses, she politely excuses herself, and Sothe covers for her.

Their camp is near a river, and Micaiah thinks about dunking her head completely in. Maybe even submerging herself. This is a _war_. Pelleas is her _king_. She should not be preoccupying herself with his soft lips, his strong cheekbones, or his soft, caring eyes. She should not be dwelling on his endless praise, his kind heart, or his gentle soul. And she certainly should not be _fantasizing_ about his tender touch or his warm embrace. Micaiah decides that splashing some water on her face would do for now.

***

He supposes he has been rambling for some time now. The paper in front of him, filled with battle plans and orders from Begnion, is blurry and illegible. He keeps his eyes fixed on it, however, because every time he looks up, he has to see Micaiah _staring_ at him. Of course she is. This is a war council. He is giving her orders. That does not stop his palms from sweating or his collar from feeling far too tight. Empty words continue to spill from his mouth, and Pelleas cannot remember the aim of this meeting, anymore. He takes a deep breath, and then he hears Sothe whispering across the room. A sigh of relief escapes his lips when Micaiah excuses herself. Sothe helps keep meetings short, and he retreats to his tent not even five minutes after.

Pelleas collapses on his bedroll, arms outstretched. He does not want to give form to his subdued desire, especially if Micaiah's fixed gaze was all it took to completely derail a pivotal meeting. However... He thinks back to her eyes. They shine like crystals, and when he meets them, he can feel her peering into his soul. That she would continue to give him the time of day after seeing the darkness he carries warms him to the core. He pulls a blanket over his head and rolls to his side. His mistake.

His thoughts swirl from Micaiah's intangible ethereal aire to her physical stature--to her unmistakable beauty, and how perfectly she would fit in his arms given his current position. He tries not to fixate on how warm her dainty, marked hand would feel in his. He begs his mind to focus on something else, but teasing whispers, gentle laughter, and fingers tangling into his hair overwhelm his senses.

She is his _general_. He is her _king_. These feelings he is drowning in are horrifically out of place, and yet...

Her gentle praise, unwavering devotion, and raw desire to protect Daein...

How could he not fall hopelessly in love with her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi they are In Love and Very Tender but also Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> i, like micaiah, have two hands
> 
> i'm planning on fleshing out the in-game interactions first, and then expanding  
> but some of you know the schtick already *wink


End file.
